We're Just Blowing Smoke
by evelynsteele
Summary: First in the "Blowin Smoke" series. Meg is adjusting to life in the bunker; she and Dean wind up bonding, something Castiel is nervous about. Implied DeanxCastiel. Rated M for language.


"Hey! Come on, Dean-o." Dean looked up from the newspaper skeptically, raising a single eyebrow at the brunette demon already halfway out the door. "Come on. One of you lug-heads has to babysit me, right?" With a quiet groan, he stood up and trudged up the stairs to the door, shrugging on his jacket and slipping his handgun into the back of his jeans.

"What do you want, Meg?" he asked her as he followed her to the back of the bunker. It was the middle of the afternoon, so there was a semi-decent view of the woods out back, but he knew Meg didn't come out there for that.

"The real question," she smirked mischievously, "is what you want, Dean-o." Her hand slithered up to her neck then down the front of her sweater.

"Oh, Christ, Meg!" he exclaimed, holding up a hand to block his view of her chest. "I'm not interested."

Meg froze, hand still nestled in her cleavage. She opened and shut her mouth without making a sound before furrowing her eyebrows. "Really? This is my best attempt at a sign of peace, and you're rejecting me?"

Dean nodded, his gaze still averted. "I don't do that anymore," he murmured. "I mean, I have Cas now."

She chuckled, his embarrassment almost tangible in the air. It was fun to see him squirm like this. "Look at you, Dean-o! Taking one for the team and all that shit. Being the good boy." She barked a short laugh. "I really want to call 'bullshit,' but…" She shrugged before pulling her hand out from her top, gripping a crumpled carton of cigarettes.

Dean's eyes locked onto the box, his hand falling limply to his side. "Oh, fuck me, I want one," he vocalized in a boyish whimper.

Meg scoffed, pulling one out and tapping it against her lower lip. "Now you want one?" She stuck the one in her fingers between her lips and fished out another one, holding it out filter-first to Dean. He gingerly took it from her with his mouth, stuffing both his hands into his jacket pockets in search of his lighter. "What made you change your mind?" she asked around her cigarette, slipping the carton back into her bra. He shook his head as he pulled out his lighter, indicating he didn't want to talk about it. "What did you think I was going to do? Yank out my tits?" He fumbled with his lighter, eyes wide as a blush crept up his neck. "Oh, Christ," she giggled, gently tugging the lighter out of his hand. She flipped the top and lit it, holding it out to Dean. "Your freckles stand out when you blush. Cutie," she grinned, careful to keep her cigarette gingerly between her teeth, and poked at the pink and warm apple of his cheek. He frowned and sharply blew smoke at her. "No longer cute," she complained, waving the smoke away. "Light a lady up," she murmured as she handed his lighter back. He lit her cigarette and pocketed his lighter. She exhaled slowly, tilting her chin upward so the smoke floated above their heads. "Wait," she said as she took another drag. "Did you seriously think my truce was sex?"

"What the fuck was I supposed to think?" he calmly demanded, turning his head as he blew out a steady stream of smoke. "You had your hand down your shit." He gently coughed after an angry drag, aiming his smoke over her head.

She laughed, the smoke seeping out between her teeth. "I've been keeping cigarettes there for - how long have I been here? - two months. I thought you knew that." She took another drag and flicked her ashes to the ground. "Cas pats me down, but he's too much of a gent to investigate the girls too closely." She grinned again, this time her tongue peeking between her teeth. Her smile then vanished; she pointed at him with the red end of her cigarette. "And he better continue to not find them." She slipped her cigarette back between her lips. "You balls are on the line, hun."

He nervously cleared his throat, shoving his hands into his pockets. "As long as I can keep bumming them off you," he offered, his cigarette bobbing up and down enticingly.

"As long as you keep lighting me up, big boy," she agreed.

_we're just blowing smoke_

Meg took a long drag before letting it pour from her nose and mouth. Dean watched as it happened, so focused on the smoke that he didn't catch her quirked eyebrow. He then took a drag and tried to mimic her, but he started coughing as smoke got caught in his throat. She couldn't help but giggle.

She tapped her upper lip with the tip of her finger. "Lip," she stated. He looked at her, brow furrowed in confusion. "Lip," she repeated.

"Lip," he parroted hesitantly, touching his lightly.

"Teeth," she said before poking hers.

"Teeth."

"Hard palette," she said before slipping her finger just behind her teeth. She then withdrew her finger to explain, "It's the hard part of the rood of your mouth." He slid his finger from his teeth to his hard palette before nodding. "Behind that, close to your gag reflex, is your soft palette." He slid his finger almost fully into his mouth before nodding. "Can you lift it? Without using your finger, I mean?" She could see his tongue moving, trying to distinguish the different muscles in his mouth before nodding. "Just hold the soft palette high and-" She took a long drag and, after a moment, smoke steadily poured out her nose and mouth. "It's called Dragon's Breath," she grinned. She did it once more, wiggling her eyebrows at him as he haltingly managed to join her. "Do you know how to do smoke rings?"

"First trick I learned," he responded. He took a drag and blew three smoke rings before blowing out the rest of the smoke in a stream. "I'm really out of practice."

"I can play basketball!" she chirped. She blew a smoke ring and waited for a moment, watching it spread out and thin, then blew another smoke ring through the center of the first. She did it three more times before coughing, the last blow of smoke escaping in a puff. "Guess I'm a bit out of practice, too," she rasped. She coughed heartily, turning her head. "Let's make practicing a thing," she prompted. He nodded, grinning.

_we're just blowing smoke_

"We get a special treat today," she chirped, pulling a new carton out of her bra "Dark chocolate cherry cigarettes," she sang, unwrapping the plastic. "They're my favorite but they're rare and it makes me sad." She pulled one out and popped it in between her lips, and then offered the carton to him. He pulled one out, but simply held it and stared at it. "Come on," she urged. When he still didn't move, she slipped her hand into his jacket and retrieved his lighter. Keeping a wary eye on him, she lit her cigarette. As she took her first drag, she dropped her shoulders and closed her eyes. Her exhale came out as a breathy moan. "Holy shit I've missed these things," she murmured as she opened her eyes. He still hadn't moved. "Come on, Dean-o!" she prompted. "These are delicious."

"Dark chocolate cherry?" he repeated.

"They're my favorite," she murmured, taking another drag. "Just try it. If you don't like it, I'll gladly take it." She held out the lighter to him which he hesitantly took. Raising his eyebrows at her, he lit it and took a small drag. He then furrowed his brow and coughed. "Yeah, it's a bit shocking the first time," she giggled. "Try again. Just be open to it." He took a longer drag, closing his eyes with brow still furrowed. "Well?"

"I wouldn't call it 'dark chocolate cherry,' but I get it," he admitted. "It's sweet."

She immediately grinned. "Right?" She blew a series of smoke rings. "You ever done second-hand smoke?"

"Isn't that weed and stuff?" he responded, taking another drag.

She nodded. "Doesn't taste great from normal cigarettes, but the smoke from these is just as sweet the second time around." She took a drag and then grinned, the smoke slipping out the tiny spaces between her teeth. "Come on, Dean-o." She batted her eyelashes as he sighed.

"What do I do?" he asked, relenting.

She grinned wildly. "I'll blow some smoke, and you breathe it in. Simple as that." She squinted and tilted her head, gauging their height difference. "Can you perch on the Impala fender? You're too high up; the smoke would dissipate too much by the time it got to you."

He sighed and led her to the Impala, where he gingerly sat on the hood. "Do I breathe in through my nose or my mouth?"

She thought for a moment, tapping her ashes to the ground and shuffling dirt on top with her boot. "The nose is normal, but mouth is easier. You trust me and all that?"

"Eh," he grunted before grinning. She grinned back. What started as a twisted affection for Castiel had morphed into a genuine alliance with both Winchesters; she had well earned her stripes by that point.

"Behave," she demanded, though her grin was still in place. "We're going to get close." He raised an eyebrow, but jumped a bit when she kicked at his foot. She eased his legs apart so she could stand between them. Even though they were now hip-to-hip, he still had a few inches on her. She rocked onto the ball of her feet, her free hand flying to his shoulder to steady herself. Instinctively, he reached out his index fingers to hook onto her belt loops to aid in her balance, his cigarette held away from her jeans with his ring and little fingers, his thumb protecting the filter. She slid her hand up to the side of his neck and jaw, cradling but also positioning his head to where she wanted it. Taking a long drag, she gently set her cigarette on the hood of the car as her second hand mirrored her first hand. They raised their eyebrows comically at each other as she eased open his mouth with her thumbs on his jaw. She nodded before resting the side of her nose against his, and exhaling her smoke into his mouth. He made a content noise deep in his chest as he breathed it in.

A wounded, whiney exhale sounded from the side by the bunker. Startled, Meg reached around Dean's back and swung his gun around to the source of the noise, flicking the safety off and black overwhelming her eyes.

"Jesus, Cas," Dean rasped, using the hand not holding the cigarette to cover his mouth as he coughed. He tossed his cigarette to the ground and put it out with the toe of his boot, but made no move to stand up. He rested his hands on Meg's hips, who too hadn't moved. "Hey. Hey, Meg." Her head snapped to him, black draining back to her pupils. "Can I have my gun back?" She took a deep breath before nodding, securing the safety, and placing his gun back into his waiting hand. She then picked up her cigarette and stuck it between her lips, stepping away from him and taking an angry drag. "What do you need, Cas?" he asked as he stood up.

"An explanation," Castiel replied, monotone.

"We were smoking," Dean sighed. "I know you don't like it, I just…" He trailed off, running his hand over his hair. "For like the past month. Sorry." Meg snorted and he glared at her as she grinned, still smoking.

"Just smoking?" Castiel clarifies, stepping closer to them. He sighed, his eyebrows dropping to a relaxed position. "Sorry. You two just appeared rather intimate. I was concerned."

"Fuck!" Meg shrieked, drawing the attention of both Dean and Castiel. Her eyes were demon black again. "Why does everyone think I want to fuck Dean?"

"Meg," Dean murmured soothingly.

"No!" she growled. "This is important!" A beat later, her eyes shrank to normal as all color left her face. She then blushed furiously, avoiding their gazes. "Never mind," she ground out. "Just fuck off." She stomped out her cigarette and briskly returned to the bunker. And though it hurt her ears, the heavy metallic thud as she slammed the door was hellishly satisfying.


End file.
